


let my life be more than proof

by VerdantMoth



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Reincarnation, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 06:24:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17136647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth
Summary: Merlin thinks for a  moment he has failed, again. That it is not enough. But then he sees her, in the midst of the tornado. She is small, smaller even than her people. Her edges are softer than those around her, and she looks younger, though her eyes hold more pain.Written forMerthur Daily's 1o Years.Day 7: Finale.





	let my life be more than proof

In the end, Merlin is too late. By breaths, by moments, by beats of a heart he feels beneath his own skin. In the end, he thinks, he always knew he would be too late. He’d always been too late. Now the tardiness has cost him everything, and he has no one to blame but himself. 

Here is where he lets go of everything. Here is the moment he accepts his fate and the endless waiting, and the fulfillment of a destiny that fucks him over every goddamned chance it gets. 

When has Merlin ever played by the rules, though? When had he ever let nameless forces dictate how he should be and who he is? No, he thinks. No, he growls at the large expanse of a cursed lake. 

He stands at the edge and cast his hands out. His voice is clear when he speaks. “I have a deal.” 

Blue swarms above the lake, a fierce cloud that shimmies and shivers, a vibrating mass more ominous than the king who lays at his feet. They screech, it echoes louder that birds before a storm. It grates on Merlin’s ears and splits his head wide open. 

_ And why, idiot boy should we do this for you? _

They shouldn’t. Merlin knows it, they know it. But Merlin also knows what they need from Arthur, what they desire from him. He is not as immortal they think him. He picks up Arthur’s sword. “You need me. The magic I posses. You need the promise of a land where it flourishes, where you can roam freely.” 

The blue cloud tunnels upwards, flings itself towards him.  _ You wouldn’t. You’re not that kind of boy. _

He wasn’t, not before Camelot. But he stares at the blue-purple skin of his king, remembers  holding him in his arms, and the ghost of a kiss. “Would you like to find out?”

The screeching begins again. They fling themselves at Merlin. Sharp blue bodies like glass and pebbles knocking him back, backwards, away from Arthur, from the lake,  _ from his one chance. _

He won’t allow it, he can’t. He summons all the rage and regret and pain. He doesn’t fling his hands up or out. He throws his head back, opens his mouth, and shrieks like the banshees before Arthur. It feels as though the whole world trembles, as though the ground beneath him is splitting apart, is trying to swallow him.

Merlin thinks for a  moment he has failed, again. That it is not enough. But then he sees her, in the midst of the tornado. She is small, smaller even than her people. Her edges are softer than those around her, and she looks younger, though her eyes hold more pain.

_ It will not be pleasant, young sorcerer. And there is no going back. To do this is to argue with fate and destiny and life itself. You will not be forgiven. You will not be remembered. _

“I know,” the whisper falls from his lips. Around the girl the sidhe swarm, angry but curious. 

_ There is no going back. _ She says once more. 

And then Merlin bleeds, and everything his is, everything he knows, is pain.

\---

Arthur comes to gasping and clutching his stomach. His hand comes away sticky and warm, and his body feels as though he has tumbled down a rocky ravine. The air around him is quiet in the same way it is after a large storm. He’s alone, and though he knows this place, he doesn’t know how he got here. 

He groans. Tries to roll over but the mud is thick, swallows him. It takes several tries, squelching and slippery, before he manages to get up to his knees. A horse whinnies to his left. If he could just… he stretches, slides, and his hand lands on something cold and wrong. 

He thinks he might vomit before he even looks.  _ Don’t look, little king. _

Arthur stares at the blue creature with apologies in her eyes.  _ Go home, rule your kingdom and never come back to this cursed place.  _

Arthur does not take orders from strange and cruel creatures. He looks and he’s sorry. Merlin lays before him, muddy and bloody, and looking for all the world like he’s been in the center of brawl with all the knights for three kingdoms. 

His skin, that beautiful, pale skin is every shade of blue and red and purple Arthur can imagine. His face, battered and swollen and so wrong. Both his hands are clenched to his chest, but Merlin can see something silver gleaming in them. He’s going to be sick, but his curiosity is stronger. Arthur reaches down, breaks Merlin’s stiff fingers until he can pry his hands apart. His palms still bear the imprint of the medallion he’s holding. 

Ygraine’s sigil. It almost feels wrong to take it from him now. Small dots appear on Merlin’s face. Clear tracks where the mud runs down his cheeks. It takes Arthur too long to realize that it’s his own tears streaming down his servants face. 

“Can you bury him?” Arthur asks. “Can you give him a proper resting place?” He’s not sure he’ll make it back to Camelot. Certainly not with Merlin’s deadweight. 

_ I can. _

“Will he be okay?” He’s dead. Arthur isn’t sure there is such a thing as “okay” for him anymore. 

_ Your servant proves himself to be… not pure of heart, but worthy and loving. He will hold a place of high esteem beyond the veil. _

“He was more than just my servant,” Arthur growls. He touches Merlin's face, tries to comb his dirty black hair. 

_ You will wait for him, the way he was to wait for you. _

Arthur doesn’t know what that means. But he leans down, presses a kiss to cold lips. Then he crawls his way to the horse, manages to get on through some strange feat of luck. He heads towards Camelot, his mother’s magic, kissed by Merlin, held tight against his breast. 


End file.
